Eliza's Diary
by 22rubens
Summary: Journal of Eliza Smith, an 18-year-old amnesiac who was taken in by Ciel Phantomhive. She serves him while recovering her memories, and the dark truth behind them.
1. Entry 1

**October 10th 1890**

* * *

I don't want to write.

I've always found writing to be dull. Why would you write things down on paper when you could simply say them face-to-face? Talking out loud is faster, and far more interesting - in my opinion at least. Talking doesn't give you hand cramps, ink stains or ugly calices on your middle finger. But the handsome butler told me to write, and I've found it's not very smart to go against what he says. If you haven't met him, he's a scary fellow. He's really tall, and he's got weird red eyes that seem like they're looking into your very soul, just examining you. Handsome, though. I think his name is Stanley… or… Sebastian. Yes, Sebastian sounds about right, but my memory is hazy. It could be Bob for all I know.

Bob the butler. Heh, that would be great.

Anyway, 'Sebastian' told me to write in a journal because it might bring back memories. Load of bull crap if you ask me. How could drawing symbols on paper with ink bring back memories? Total rubbish. Besides, I don't have anything much to write about. All I can remember is today, and nothing else. The whole rest of my life, gone. POOF! Like a puff of smoke. I'm eighteen years old, but the only people I know are the blue-haired kid (Sean?) and the scary, red-eyed butler.

What the hell is going on?

* * *

 **A/N:** I know it's really short but I want each chapter to be a 'journal entry,' and this one just happened to be short. Please review!


	2. Entry 2

**October 11th 1890**

* * *

Sebastian told me I'm not supposed to be sarcastic when I'm writing anymore.

Apparently, journals aren't supposed to be for complaining, they're supposed to be for writing down stories - the stories of their owners. I asked him how I'm supposed to write my life down if I don't even remember it and he growled at me. Actually growled - no joke. It was scary. I don't think he likes me very much.

Anyway, I suppose I'd better get cracking on this 'life story' thing before the man has an aneurysm, or stabs me with one of his fancy butter knives. I can see him glaring at the back of my head right now - just as I'm writing this. I suppose I'd better watch my back.

Well then, here it goes. Here's the story of my life, or at least, yesterday.

* * *

The first thing I remember is waking up on the cold streets of London in a pile of blood.

A blue-haired teenager was standing over me, shaking my shoulders to wake me up. I remember staring into the kid's large, light-blue eyes and marveling at how very blue they were. I'd always wanted eyes like that, but I'd gotten stuck with plain ol' brown ones. The kid was shouting at me, but his voice echoed strangely in my ears, bouncing around my head like a bouncy ball. I couldn't understand anything. The kid shook me a few times and my eyes began to droop. I felt the world fade, and it wasn't long before I fell asleep again.

The next time I woke up I was in a carriage with the same kid I'd seen before. I was laying down on one of the vehicle's velvety benches, and the kid was sitting on the other bench, right next to Sebastian. The kid was yelling at Sebastian (something about cats), but he stopped when he noticed my eyes were open. He let out a long sigh and bent down to my level.

"Hello, my name is Earl Ciel Phantomhive," he said kindly, staring at me. His eyes were even bluer then I had remembered. He looked like he was about ten years old, so I was quite shocked to realize he was an Earl. Weren't Earls usually really old men?

I stared at him for a few seconds, and the kid stared back uncomfortably. After a while, he cleared his throat.

"What's your name?" He asked me, offering a half-smile.

I remember looking at Ciel blankly as his words bounced around my head. Name. Name. What was my name? The kid's words hurt my brain, making me squint in concentration. All of a sudden, a word appeared out of the black abyss in my mind.

"Eliza!" I shouted, and Ciel flinched at my enthusiasm. I giggled. "Eliza," I said again, doing my best to remain calm. Ciel nodded and shot a sideways glance at his butler. They had some sort of telepathic conversation before Ciel turned his attention back to me.

"How old are you?" he asked. I giggled again, and he looked at me with concern.

"Eighteen."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Purple."

"Favorite sound?"

"Rain."

"Why were you lying on the street in a puddle of blood?"

This question caught me by surprise, and I frowned.

"Did you mean, 'What's my favorite animal?'" I asked, chuckling nervously. Ciel shook his head, his lips tilting downward as he glared at me.

"No, I meant, 'Why were you lying on the street in a puddle of blood?' Blood that was not your own, may I add."

"Uhh…" I waited for a few seconds as his words bounced around my mind. They bounced and bounced, but I still couldn't think of an answer. All I got from my stupid brain was black nothingness. I slammed my hand into the side of my skull. Still nothing.

"I dunno," I finally answered, shrugging. Ciel's eyes narrowed, and he again shared a glance with his butler. It seemed as though those two shared a brain, they were always thinking the same exact thing.

"Oh, really?" He asked after a while. His voice was heavy with annoyance. He didn't believe me.

"I swear," I promised, but I could tell he still didn't believe a word I'd said. He didn't say anything, however, only crossed his arms. He looked childish like that - a lot different from the charismatic teenager he had been up until that point.

Anyway, fast forward, they took me to the manner, I met the servants, everyone introduced themselves, Ciel yelled at Sebastian and then Sebastian yelled at me. Blah blah. I've had enough writing.

My hand hurts.

It's already 9:30.

I'm done.

Sebastian can kiss my ass.

Until tomorrow, I guess.


End file.
